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proof she already got from that stupid little gymnast. Julie Forman is a potential loose end. Jim Robbins is a definite one. He’s a prison sentence—or worse—waiting to happen. And I’m the lucky one who has to deliver all this news and get my head handed to me.” He flung an arm toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
    Slava rubbed his temples as Dumb and Dumber left the room. He had a huge fucking migraine, and it was about to get worse.
    Sliding open his drawer, he took out two aspirin and popped them into his mouth, washing them down with a shot of vodka.
    He dreaded the phone call he was about to make. This would not go over well.
    Like a prisoner being marched off to his execution, Slava picked up the phone and entered the number.

CHAPTER FOUR

    Tribeca, New York
    Offices of Forensic Instincts

    Ryan was waiting for some online feedback on the team’s current case. The info would be coming soon, so there wasn’t enough time to tinker with his current robotic project. As a result, he took a quicker, alternative route to passing the time—he conducted his routine check-in on the few darknet chat rooms he frequented.
    Kerberos was one of his favorites. It was interesting on many levels. Technically, he enjoyed the expert banter about Internet security. For pure entertainment value, he was always amazed by individuals trying to escape detection—everyone from cheating spouses to tax cheats screwing the US government to dirty business partners screwing each other. What he couldn’t stomach was the child predators posing as First Amendment advocates. He made sure to give them what appeared to be the right advice, except for the one or two “errors” that he knew law enforcement would be monitoring. A few months later, the avatar would grow silent. Other members would speculate, and Ryan would just grin at the thought of another scumbag in jail. Lady Justice could be a fickle mistress at times.
    One new post caught his attention. Someone named ScoobyDoo was asking how to disappear. The brevity of the question was concerning. Usually, cheaters of one kind or another would pose hypothetical situations, such as: “My friend wants to keep an affair secret from his wife and has asked for my advice. What should I tell him?” But this post had none of that. Straight and to the point.
    Ryan needed more information, but the code of conduct prohibited asking why. This needed finesse.
    Ryan posted a simple response, using his own screen name, AdrenoJunkie: “To answer your question, I would need to know some specifics about your situation. How old are you? Are you disappearing alone or with others? How will you support your future lifestyle? In what country and type of community—urban/suburban/rural/remote—do you want to live? Are you willing to forgo all forms of communication with friends and family, as well as digital commerce using all forms of payment? There are more questions to be answered, but this will start a meaningful dialogue.”
    Most people would give up right after reading his questions. They would realize what they’d have to leave behind and what they would have to give up in the future.
    Ryan wondered whether ScoobyDoo would even respond.
    Two hours later he had his answer.
    And it rapidly triggered his own response.
    Julie. Julie. Julie.
    Lisa had drilled that name into her head every day of the past three weeks. She’d been called that by Milo to the point of Chinese torture, and she’d been addressed as that by every job applicant she’d interviewed. She’d literally and totally started thinking of herself that way.
    Lisa was dead. Julie was alive and opening a new gym in Upper Montclair, New Jersey.
    Lisa was now Julie. And the gym— her gym—now proudly called Excalibur—was just ten days away from its grand opening.
    She’d always loved working out, running, and staying fit. Well, this was a big step beyond that. She’d learned a hell of a lot about her profession in